


Sharp as a Tack

by GrinningColossus



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, FSS is the meat to a Nick and Hancock sandwich, Happy Story, Threesome - F/M/M, no frowning no sad faces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:32:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6174964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrinningColossus/pseuds/GrinningColossus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anyone can see that Nick and Natalie have a special thing going, even if they won't act on it. Hancock isn't sure where he fits into it, or even if he should be trying to, but when Natalie accidentally takes a large chem dosage meant for him, everything is up in the air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharp as a Tack

“Nicky, good to see you,” Hancock says the moment they walk through the door of his office, quickly standing to clap the detective on the shoulder. He greets Natalie in turn as she trails in behind Nick.

“Sorry to interrupt your work,” Nick replies, pointedly eyeing the coffee table in the center of the room, the surface of which is entirely littered with chems but for a small area near the far left corner. Hancock returns to his seat on the couch and props his feet up on the very same corner, and that, thinks Nick, explains that.

Hancock gestures for them to sit and they do so, Nick somewhat reluctantly. He doesn’t fail to notice that Natalie is less concerned and seats herself with what must be practiced ease, and though she does not put her feet up her muddy, bloodstained boots rest on their heels as she leans back.

The ghoul offers them a hit, and both politely refuse. Nick can’t help but be relieved. He’s never seen Natalie partake. She’s the kind of girl he could see perched over a pile of books in her childhood, huge owl glasses taking up half her face. These days she carries a sword and wears a pair of policeman’s sunglasses and smiles on only side of her mouth when she offers her help to others. He’d taken her for a troublemaker at their first meeting, a woman with a loud mouth and an attitude. That was until she had spoken to him and betrayed the fact that she was, and these were Hancock’s words (true words, but still ones that Nick would prefer to divorce himself from), a dweeb.

Her sunglasses are perched on her head now that they are indoors and she hangs her arms over the back of the sofa, smiling at Hancock. The two are bantering about the unprofessionalism of Hancock’s hired muscle, who send suggestive comments her way more frequently than they ought to.

Natalie is charming, certainly, and looks intimidating from a distance (this, she confided in him once, is on purpose). Still, she hadn’t denied it when Hancock asked once if she’d been stuffed into a lot of lockers in her youth, and her slick speech grinds to a halt whenever someone gives her an answer she’s not expecting, replaced with stuttering and a quick egress.

Circumstance has made Natalie feel like she has to be hard, but Nick knows she doesn’t have it in her to be hard all the way down.

Hancock has figured this out, too, and it didn’t take him long. It never does. Damn ghoul is more perceptive than he gives himself credit for.

They are in Goodneighbor on a missing persons case, a trader who was last seen heading that direction, and Nick hopes to track down some clues from the shopkeepers in town who may have had dealings with him. He had barely begun brainstorming with Natalie about where to start when one of Hancock’s goons flagged them down.

“Is there somethin’ you needed?” Nick asks, tired of the pretense. Hancock is a friend, but Nick knows as well as anyone that he can be a bit chatty and circular.

Hancock only laughs, lighting a cigarette and shaking out the match. “Always to the point, eh?” He takes a drag, blowing the smoke out into the muggy air to mingle with the dust motes. “Just figured I’d intercept you with some relevant information before you got yourself into trouble.”

“Relevant information about what, exactly?” Natalie asks, nose scrunching slightly at the smell of the smoke.

“The case you’re working on. The missing trader?”

Natalie and Nick exchange glances. “How did you know about that?”

“Because,” and here Hancock stabs the air with his cigarette, “he wasn’t just heading to Goodneighbor to do some business. He and one of my citizens are…familiar. If you catch my drift.”

“Who would that be?” Natalie obviously intended the question to come out cool, but she’s slightly too eager for the gossip.

“Daisy.” Daisy, the ghoul who staffed the general goods store. “So you two amble up to Daisy and ask her if she’s seen this man, and I would bet my hat that she clams right up and refuses to talk to you.”

Natalie’s eyebrow rises. Nick really thinks she should have a pair of glasses to shove up the bridge of her nose. “If she knows this fellow then she should want him found as soon as possible, right? Why do you think she’d turn us away?”

“The man you’re looking for, Grimsby, is only an honest trader part-time.”

“So what is he the rest of the time?”

Hancock’s grin is one of his cockiest. “A dishonest one.”

“What does he run, chems?” This time it’s Nick who asks, and Natalie’s face sours even more when she sees he’s lighted a smoke as well.

“It’s a little more complicated. At its most innocent, what he does is loot. From what I’ve heard, though, he takes requests for specific items belonging to dead people.”

Natalie shrugs. “It’s not really stealing if they’re dead.” That’s an interesting philosophy, and Nick files it away.

“Very _recently_ dead,” continues Hancock, smiling at her presumption. “He sticks close to assassins, mercenaries, and the like. What I hear, those corpses ain’t even cold when he makes his snatches.”

Brow furrowed, Natalie leans her elbows on her knees and eyes Hancock doubtfully. “My point still stands.”

“What he’s saying, and correct me if I’m wrong here, is that people want these items and pay to have their owners killed, after which our man Grimsby transports the goods back to his client and makes bank.”

“Precisely.”

“Clever,” says Natalie, as impressed, it seems, with Grimsby’s scheme as she is with Hancock for figuring it out. She and the ghoul share a moment of mutual satisfaction in the revealing of this information, and Nick shifts uncomfortably in his seat, looking between the two of them uncertainly.

This was not something he expected. Not the case, that was…that was _human_ nature, a predictably unpredictable thing, and normally Nick would have joined in their intellectual satisfaction, but the idea that Natalie has cozied up to Hancock so quickly bothers him and he isn’t sure why. It may be that he and Natalie have been together for a long time, joining up only a few weeks after she woke up in Vault 111. That was seven months ago now, and she has only known Hancock for five of those months.

Nick is circuits and wires and he was _not_ designed for this sort of thing, but there you are. Jealously, you see, is not new emotion to him; he’s felt it when he sees a trench coat with fewer patches than his, or those Gen 3 synths who are so close to the real deal that she wouldn’t even notice the difference.

Apparently that matters to him, and if there is a sour taste in his mouth it isn’t just because he’s bitten down on his cigarette a little harder than necessary.

He thinks that those high school bullies, who likely only exist in his imagination, would be utterly at her mercy if they saw her as she is now. Rich brown hair, fringe cut in a sharp line over her inquisitive green eyes, freckles dotting the skin over her cheekbones. He thinks of her fiercely knit brows, drenched in sweat and possibly the bodily fluids of whatever poor sap she’d just cut through. He doesn’t think she’d fit into lockers anymore, but he’d love to see someone try.

“So,” Hancock was saying as Nick tuned back in to reality, “this is what we’re going to do. You and me, Nicky, we’re going down to put the lean on Daisy. Any delusions she has of protecting her squeeze won’t mean squat with me there.”

“As good a plan as any,” Nick agrees.

“And you,” the ghoul continues, nodding towards Natalie, who sits up eagerly, “are staying here.”

“The hell she is,” Nick growls just as Natalie stutters “…excuse me?”

Hancock seems unconcerned, smoking lazily. If he had eyebrows, he would be raising one. “That’s the caveat to me helping you out. I want some alone time with our brilliant detective here, and then I’m going to hang with you, sister, free of the ol’ ball and chain.”

Natalie asks “Why?” but Nick is busy narrowing his eyes and thinking of some choice words to send Hancock’s way the second they’re alone together.

“Nuh-uh.” Hancock wags a finger. “No backtalking. That’s what happens, or I don’t help.”

Nick is about to say something like ‘have it your way’ before storming out when Natalie shrugs and relaxes into the sofa. “Fine. But I’d better get an explanation.”

Hancock stands and flourishes his hat, bowing before her. “You have my word, sister.” Replacing his hat he beckons Nick. The detective stands and turns to her, frowning.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?”

Natalie laughs and shrugs again. “God knows I could use a nap. You and Hancock go have your boys’ day out.” When she sees that the intensity in his yellow eyes hasn’t faded she adds, lower, “it’s fine, Nick. I’m not offended. I’ll see you later, right?”

He has no doubt she means what she says, and after a long beat he finally nods. “Right.”

The two men leave. Natalie yawns and begins to search for a place to lie down.

* * *

 

“What the hell is this about, John?” Nick says the moment the door to the Old State House closes behind them, but fond exasperation takes the bite out of it.

“I gotta say, I’m a little hurt that you think so little of me to assume I’m up to no good.”

“Spare me the feelings,” Nick scoffs, but he’s smiling. “Your track record rather speaks for you, I think.”

Hancock doesn’t answer, but starts off in the opposite direction of Daisy’s store. Before Nick can ask, he motions for him to follow and, honestly, bless their friendship, because Nick does so almost immediately. He still hasn’t dropped the detective’s glare, however, and Hancock would normally comment on it, but right now he’s staring up towards the top of the buildings and frowning.

“I just wanted to have a chat before I send the two of you back out there.” Pensiveness does not suit Hancock, so Nick swallows his doubts and gestures that he’s listening. “Nat’s not from around here.”

“You don’t say,” mumbles Nick, choosing to ignore the shorthand of Natalie’s name.

“Can it for a hot second, will ya? She’s not like you, Nick. She’s not like me, either. Or anyone else in this wasteland. You see this?” He points to a peeling poster tacked to the wall next to the Rexford. It’s an old ad for Nuka Cola. A grinning housewife with perfectly curled blonde hair and white teeth is standing in a sparkling clean kitchen. Her handsome husband and spotless children sit around the table, and she’s opened the fridge door to hand each grinning soul a chilled Cola. Her dress is powder blue, her apron crisp. “That’s Nat.”

Nick is, admittedly, confused. The blonde woman looks nothing like Natalie.

“Don’t be stupid,” chides Hancock after it is clear his point has been missed. “This? This is how people were before the war. This is what her life was like. Not exactly like that, you know, but for our purposes as good as. This is a woman who knew grass. She didn’t know how to fire a gun or what the fuck a ghoul is. And I know you can remember those times, too. But it ain’t the same for you as it is for her, you know?”

“You think I’m being too rough with her.”

“My point is that you’re dragging this woman” –he jabs at the poster again— “across the Commonwealth, into gunfire, explosions, hostage situations” –now he’s ticking them off on his fingers— “she’s gotta choose sides, she’s gotta save these people, then those people over there, all while being” –and now a final sweeping gesture at the ad once more— “this. On the inside.”

Nick is normally slow to anger, but this has caught him on a live wire. “Natalie doesn’t go in for anything she can’t handle. I’m not forcing her…”

“All I’m saying is that I think you forget too often that she isn’t metal. Did you see how tired she looked today, Nick? Because she’s exhausted. You see little details, and god knows you’re a perfect gentleman, but I think sometimes you can’t help but forget what it was like. I know I do.”

“And how often do the two of you travel together, John? How is it that you’ve come to all this hidden knowledge that even I in my infinite wisdom seem to have missed?”

Now Hancock is pissed too, and Nick regrets provoking him, but he needs to know.

“You know the answer to that.”

Never. They don’t travel together because Natalie has never asked anyone else to come with her. From the day she rescued him and spilled her story, to the day they killed Eddie Winter, to the present moment where they have come to Goodneighbor on a case, Natalie has always chosen him.

“I get it,” concedes Hancock, his palms held up in surrender. “She’s tougher by far than she was, and I’d never insult her intelligence by implying that anything the two of you do is against her wishes. I just…” He rubs at the back of his neck, skewing his hat slightly. “That’s a hell of a change, Nick, and within not so long of a time. Just make sure you’re doing it right, okay?”

They’ve circled back around, and Daisy’s shop is only feet away. Nick almost takes pity on him. But why is this something Hancock felt the need to talk about? When did he begin to care so much about Natalie? Hancock’s a good guy and all, and he stands for the people, for the little guy, and it’s not that it’s against his character to care about someone or something so relatively small (not small to the two of them, mind). Still, it’s suspicious. “Why is Natalie’s wellbeing hanging so heavily on your mind, my friend?”

It _is_ against Hancock’s character to remain silent, but that is what he does, narrowing his black eyes just slightly.

It hits Nick like a ton of bricks. He’s _jealous_. He and Nick are both green-eyed monsters in the worst sense and even more horrible is that they are jealous of _each other_.

Nick sighs. “Look,” he levels, “I know what I’m doing. Natalie knows what she’s doing. I understand what you’re trying to say but, really, it’s not necessary.”

Hancock laughs and rolls his shoulders. “Whatever you say, Nicky.”

They barge into Daisy’s store, Hancock’s typical swaggering gait on display, but Nick can tell that something stormy is still brewing in there. Hancock clearly wants to move on regardless, so Nick does.

“Hiya Daisy.”

* * *

 

The attic room is empty, for once. The late afternoon sunlight is streaming in thick and dusty through the shoddy rafters and the grimy windows, and Natalie lies on her back, hand outstretched into the nearest beam. Her nails are grubby and short, her arm covered in new scars. She’s happy.

This experience, if it could be called that (it didn’t feel quite right; ‘experience’ had somewhat of a transitory connotation, like something that would end eventually, and this…this would not), had killed her, but it had also brought her to life. It snuffed the Natalie that was and resurrected her as a wasteland queen, and even though every single day she wanted to go home she had never felt better in her life.

Nick knew it, too. When she first woke up, she could only see the worst in this new world. Nick was the lens through which she saw what good could be accomplished here. He has no real reason to care about that, or to care about her, but he does anyway, and his stalwart refusal to be anything less than extraordinary, well, that rubs off on a person.

Before she resolves to sleep, she glances down at her own body, the softness which has been replaced with hard lines and muscle, and thinks of Nick watching over her at night as he so often does. It’s to be expected of him when they are out in the waste; after all, he does not require rest and a sleeping woman left alone has virtually no chance of remaining so for long, and it only makes sense for him to stand guard.

But there are other nights…

Just last week, she remembers, at the Dugout Inn, she rented her usual room (Nick had offered over and over to let her sleep in the Agency, which she refused simply because, and this had taken him a long time to understand, being able to close a door and be alone in a room? Her mind _thirsted_ for the opportunity to dive in on itself in solitude), and he saw her to the door and wished her good night, told her he would be working on a case nearby and to find him in the morning, and left. She thought that was the end of it.

And even now she was not certain that it wasn’t a dream, but towards the middle of the night, when even bustling Diamond City was hushed and the room was pitch black, she woke to see a pair of softly glowing yellow eyes looking upon her from across the room.

If it was real, if it wasn’t a dream, it could have been no other synth but him, because there was no panic, no cry of fear. She hardly even woke up. She felt at peace, and drifted back to sleep within moments.

She has been ignoring it all these days since, not wanting to think about the implications. In Diamond City she is safe as she sleeps. There is no need for him to keep watch over her within the green wall. And yet she is almost certain, would bet a lot of caps on it, that Nick had been standing guard at her bedside even then.

She thinks about Nick. She can’t help it. His easy banter, his acceptance at what he is, the lighthearted way he can make jokes at his own expense. How easy it could have been for him to be cold, and how he chose warmth instead. The way his circuitry whirs visibly, at times, beneath his skin, and how Natalie cannot help her curiosity when he leans forward and his coat moves to show a hint of the patchwork of his body beneath. The fine motor skills of his hands, particularly the skinless one, which she loves to watch when he is hacking.

Natalie loves him dearly. He is her closest friend in the whole of the Commonwealth.

But she does not think a friend’s thoughts as she drifts to sleep. Instead, she imagines the eyes in the darkness getting larger, the rustle of fabric as a skeletal hand is outstretched, the feel of cool metal dancing up her bare thigh.

* * *

 

When the boys return they let her sleep for another two hours before Hancock’s boredom and his excessive need to describe it in detail out loud forces Nick to wake her.

She is out cold. He says her name. Nothing. He walks closer and the floorboards squeak. Nothing. He perches on the edge of the bed, his weight sharply pulling down the mattress, but still she sleeps on, and he almost hates to do it but he finally reaches to gently shake her shoulder. “Natalie.”

“Mhuh?” she says eloquently, rolling over. Out in the field, the slightest noise would have woken her. He’s seen it dozens of times, and Nick either gets to say “just a bird, go back to sleep” or “wake up, we’ve got problems” followed by a string of expletives, and Natalie reacts accordingly. But he has done his research, and he knows that on home turf, in any place that is truly safe or which she at least considers safe, she could pass for dead with how deeply she sleeps. He’s not proud that he knows, but you can’t take it back once you’ve done it, right?

“It’s time for you to hit the town with the mayor, Miss VIP,” he teases.

She groans and throws an arm over her eyes. “It’s been like ten minutes.”

“It’s been four hours,” he corrects. Once she notices the sun has gone down she does not protest.

At last she rouses, tossing her legs over the bed when Nick stands to give her space. He can tell she is still tired, and maybe Hancock was right (a terrifying thought): maybe he wasn’t giving her the allowances she required. Even if she _wanted_ to be out there, fierce and fighting every day, shouldn’t he as her friend know when it’s too much?

There is a wash basin and a dingy mirror in the far corner and Natalie begins to fuss at herself in it, asking Nick distractedly if he would mind getting her gear for her.

“I’m not going out on the town in this,” she explains, tugging at her road leathers.

Nick barks. “An awfully fastidious thing for a grown woman who has just woken up from a nap to say.” He takes his cue to obey her request when a chunk of crumbled brick flies just over his head. “Alright, alright! I’m going. I’ll be back. Oh,” he adds. “One more thing.” And before she can react he finds a cracked plastic cup on the dresser and throws it her way with restrained but accurate aim.

He ducks out of the room immediately after, but her cursing follows him all the way down the stairs.

He returns shortly with her rucksack (“gear” to her included weaponry, but he’s almost sure she will not have a need for that tonight and opts not to bring it along). He should have made more noise coming up the stairs, he thinks too late, for as he enters the attic it is clear she was not expecting him back so soon, and he finds her standing at the basin with her shirt off, using the water to work at the various smudges of dirt to be found on her body.

And he can see a lot of them, and some other things as well. Normally there is a tantalizing strip of her stomach and hips in her road leathers when her armor is off, and when she bends over or stretches up high, and that alone is enough to make him curse his eyes, but here she is in her bra and nothing else above the waist, her hair let down and her skin wet where the water has splashed. There are muscles moving beneath her slender stomach, and if he had the proper mechanisms he would have gulped when he sees the single freckle to the right of her belly button.

He’s just realized he’s staring at it when she notices that he is there and jumps a foot in the air. “Shit, I’m sorry!” she gasps. He rather expected her to shriek and cover herself with anything nearby, but that doesn’t seem to be her M.O.

“Why are you apologizing to me?” he asks, bewildered. “I’m the one who barged in on you. Awfully sorry.”

She does not move to cover herself, not seeming ashamed to be seen, though not relishing in it either. Instead she flushes red and bustles over to him, taking her things and babbling about them as if willing him to pretend that this is a perfectly normal thing to be occurring. He goes along with it, because it means he can look at her longer (practically with her permission, he reasons), but eventually she kicks him out in earnest to finish getting ready.

Nick is shell-shocked when he enters Hancock’s office. The ghoul is seated as his customary position, feet up on the table, and he is about to ask something when he sees the expression on Nick’s face.

“Did you see a ghost or something, man?”

“Natalie has to finish getting dressed and she’ll be down,” Nick answers instead, not realizing how much he has just given away.

“Did you see something _else_ pale and heart-pounding, buddy?” Hancock’s grin is unbearable.

Nick drops into the opposite sofa. “Just…don’t.”

“Suit yourself.” But Hancock is still sitting on Nick’s embarrassment like a proud mother hen.

To wipe the smile off his face, Nick leans forward and says sternly, “No chems tonight, deal?”

It works. “What? Why?”

“You have a go at lecturing me just this afternoon about being more careful with Natalie and you don’t know why I would ask that of you?”

Maybe Hancock is going to say, “it’s different”, or maybe he is going to go whole hog and flip Nick off with one hand and shoot Med-X with the other, but Natalie chooses that moment to walk into the room.

She’s still just Natalie, and Nick’s seen her in this dress more times than he remembers. It’s not fancy, just a simple blue dress with white buttons and lace trim at the hem and sleeves, but she always looks good in it. When his eyes inevitably drift down towards her legs he see she’s missed quite a few spots in her washing and almost laughs at the mingling dirt and bruises she’s failed to notice. Definitely still Natalie.

She hands her sunglasses to Nick and threatens him if he allows them to come to harm, and then it is her turn to leave with Hancock.

“After you, sister,” he rasps, making to follow her out of the room.

Nick grabs him by the arm. He says nothing, but the meaning of his steady yellow stare and the shake of his head is crystal clear.

They go to the Third Rail, which Natalie could have predicted but still feigns surprised delight. Ham greets them at the door, looking dapper in his tux, and they descend the stairs. Magnolia is singing tonight and she’s as finely tuned as ever.

They don’t stop, heading straight to the VIP section.

A table has been set up in the center of the room, and almost immediately after they are seated Whitechapel Charlie drifts in to settle them with food and drink. Hancock convinces her to have some wine, and Charlie fills a small glass for her.

Hancock relaxes into the sofa as the robot leaves and the dim red lights catch on his fathomless eyes. Natalie shifts and sips politely at the wine, still unsure of herself.

“How’s the town?” she asks.

“Oh come now, that is a terrible attempt at small talk.”

“Not small enough for you, mayor? Lovely radstorm we had the other day.” Her legs are crossed, foot bobbing. Her body language at first glance betrays impatience, but Hancock knows better. One need only look into the woman’s shrewd green eyes to see she is enjoying herself immensely.

“Yes,” he agrees, “it certainly was weather.” She giggles into her wine glass, and Hancock’s ego gleams. “Hey, you’re a person, right?”

“That I am,” she manages to say. Hancock can’t help but watch her lips around the rim of the glass, the way her breath clouds it as she laughs.

“What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“Being people.”

She rocks her hand back and forth noncommittally. “Eh.”

“Just as I always suspected,” he deadpans, and she erupts with laughter

In no time at all she has finished her wine, and Hancock is feeling cockier than perhaps he should be and flags down Charlie once more.

“The lady and I will be having that special cocktail, the one I always get.”

“And will the lady…?”

He shakes his head, casting her a wry glance. “No, you’d better make hers a virgin.”

“Don’t think I can handle it?” she says, and it’s supposed to be teasing but he can see that she is at least somewhat offended. Maybe Nick had the right of it after all. Not that he’d ever concede anything to his stupid robot face.

“Now look.” He spreads his palms in a gesture of goodwill. “I’ll be honest. I think Nicky drags you through the mud more than is strictly necessary. But at the end of the day I know you’re tough stuff.”

“Drags me…?” She cocks her head. Though the wine has left a flush in her cheeks, her expression is deadly serious. Hancock isn’t the kind to backpedal, however.

“Yeah, I mean, I think the two of you get into more trouble than is good for a human. Any human, not just you. I think he might forget sometimes that you’re flesh and blood, and radiation has real consequences for you. Don’t get me wrong, I love trouble. Especially women who get me into trouble.” Her stomach flip-flopped at that. “But everybody’s got limits, and Nick’s too out of touch with other peoples’ if you ask me.”

“I see,” she says icily as Charlie returns and sets down a tray with two orange-coloured cocktails. If he was hoping for her to back him up, he was to be sorely disappointed.

Maybe it’s presumptuous of him to even attempt this. He has plenty of charisma and leadership experience, sure, but it seems both Nick and Natalie are not picking up what he’s putting down.

“So,” Natalie starts when Charlie is out of the room, “what exactly is this?”

He picks up his glass and inhales the heady smell of the alcohol. “It’s juice. They squeeze it out of those melons, you know the ones. Anyway, it’s got vodka in it too.”

“Lucky you.” She takes a sip of hers and gags a little.

“Sorry, should have warned you. They’re a little strong the way Charlie makes ‘em.”

From there, things take a turn for the better. Hancock drops his white knight attempts to make Natalie see reason (he’s not asking for her to quit, or for Nick to handle her with kid gloves; all he wants is for her to get a few more naps here and there. Is that much to ask?), and as she continues to drink she seems to want to put the conversation in the past as much as he does.

“So, the dress,” he says, eyeing it pointedly, “what’s the deal?”

“It’s a type of clothing,” she says in the perky voice of an elementary teacher. “Women wear it to cover their—”

“Yeah, yeah, but what’s _the deal_? I feel like a woman of your caliber should be wearing something far more garish.”

“Women of my _caliber_ ,” she mocks, “wear what they please. This is the first nice, not combat-ready piece of clothing I’ve bought since I woke up. I just missed feeling…you know, feeling like I did before.”

Normal? he thinks. Pretty? Comfortable?

“Clean,” she finishes instead.

Like the pearly whites of the lady in the Nuka Cola ad.

“Well, anyway, it looks good on you,” he says, and he thinks it might come off a little weak, but when she turns to look at him her pupils are blown out and she’s staring into his eyes.

“You have very unusual eyes,” she remarks, not breaking her gaze. “Most ghouls, their eyes seem less focused, less…well, I’m not sure. Yours are not human, I won’t say that, but there is something there that I have yet to see anywhere else.”

“Aw, sister, you’re making me blush over here,” he jokes, but he finds himself rather short of breath.

Although, not in the way he’s expected to. Like hers, his drink is three quarters finished, and he doesn’t feel more than the usual kick of the alcohol. His mood sours at the idea that he could be developing a tolerance for chems.

Natalie leans in closer, and though they were never far apart to begin with he can now see, intimately, each freckle on her cheeks. She takes his hand suddenly, and begins turning it over in her own. Hancock breaks out into a sweat.

She seems fascinated by his skin. “It’s so,” she starts, but then sighs and shakes her head, seeming to move past the thought. Then she slides her hand up his palm, feeling the variances of his mottled skin against hers. “That’s something, isn’t it?” she breathes.

“Are you feelin’ alright?”

Natalie cocks her head. “I think so. Actually, I feel great. Did you know that the way the light down here catches on your eyes is like a galaxy of stars? Did you know that before, with the lights and pollution, I couldn’t see the stars at night? But now there are so many. More than I ever knew existed or could count. The world has done this strange circle back to the beginning, but now we’re surrounded with the remains of the end, reminding us what we had and lost. Maybe we’ll have it again someday.”

Her hand is warm, and she is still feeling Hancock’s skin against hers, and he notices that her cheeks are pricked with sweat. She looks beautiful and out of her mind, and suddenly Hancock realizes what has happened.

He steals his hand away and seizes her glass, lifting it to what was once his nose. And, _there._ The distinctive smell of orange Mentats.

Charlie mixed up their drinks.

“Oh shit!” He would have run his fingers through his hair if he had any. “Nat, listen to me. You got my drink on accident. It’s got crushed Mentats in it. Something like…four or five of ‘em”.

“Can’t be,” she protests. “I’ve never done chems. I think I’d know.”

“Look at me,” he demands, “look into my eyes.”

“Okay,” she says mildly. Her pupils are as big as dinner plates, and she’s staring at him as though he is the most interesting thing in the whole world.

Ham has heard the commotion, heard Hancock yell, and he bursts into the room, gun at the ready. “You okay in here?”

Hancock sighs in relief. “Ham, you gotta go get Nick. Nick Valentine, the synth cop. Bring him here right away.”

Nick is not going to be happy, and Hancock knows that. Nick thinks the best of everyone and will be very, very upset to find that Hancock has gone back on his promise of no chems, even though he never really promised anything. And Nick will be absolutely _furious_ that something this ridiculous has happened to Natalie and that it is 100% Hancock’s fault.

Hancock knows it all and he asks for Nick anyway, because admittedly he’s panicking. He’s not used to being around newbies and he doesn’t know how Natalie will react.

She’s starting to look around the room, each object she sees more fascinating than the last. He takes her by the shoulders. “Look at me. Everything is alright. Everything you see is the way that it is because of the chems.”

“Okay,” she says again.

“It’s not real, and it won’t last. So hang in there.”

She laughs. “I’m having a wonderful time and I don’t _want_ it to stop.”

The feeling of being out of his depth intensifies when she shrugs his hands away and, supporting herself with her arms, moves towards him on the sofa until she is practically in his lap. She’s marveling at the intricacy of the stitching on his frock coat, and she trails her head from his waist and up, admiring each button and stitch, until she has run out of coat and is a hair’s breadth away from his face.

“Hancock,” she breathes, fingers grasping at his collar. She’s not clumsy. She is focused and, as far as Hancock is concerned, deadly, and she licks her lips and her eyes dart to his mouth briefly. _Not good._

His resolve is already wavering, but when she sighs his name once more against his mouth he can’t hold out anymore and he’s the scum of the earth but he wants nothing more than to kiss her right here and now, and his hands reach out to grab her head and that is the moment Nick finds them.

Natalie’s warm form is off of him before he knows what’s happened, and Hancock can’t help the whine that escapes his throat.

“What in the hell is going on here?” Nick says, his arms full of Natalie, whom he has just rudely ripped away from the stunned ghoul.

“There’s been, uh, a mixup,” Hancock explains lamely.

Nick checks Natalie over. “What happened to her? Why are her vitals off?”

Hancock stumbles over the words to say but Natalie answers before he has a chance to make a bigger fool of himself. “I’m fine, Nick,” she tells the synth steadily. “It was an accident.”

But Nick _knows_ there must be something wrong. Her heartbeat is normal, but her breathing, her gaze…there is energy buzzing inside of her somewhere and does not understand where it is coming from until he puts two and two together, and Hancock can sense the moment he makes four. That is the moment he is in some real deep shit. Nick starts toward him, mouth set in a hard line, but, startling the both of them, Natalie’s arm shoots out and her hand presses against his chest to stop him.

“Didn’t you hear me?” she says serenely, “It’s alright. Nick. I’m alright.”

Nick is through with it. He trusts Hancock, dammit, but this is a _serious_ fuckup on both their parts. Hancock’s for letting this happen, and Nick’s for failing to foresee it.

He takes Natalie by the hand that she placed on his chest. “I’m getting you out of here.”

The plan works fine, Nick dragging Natalie out of the Third Rail, Hancock feverishly on his heels trying to run damage control, but when they hit the street and they are empty and there is a gentle rain falling, Natalie refuses to continue allowing herself to be led. Nick lets her go, not wanting to force the point, and the woman opens her hands to catch the raindrops. She can see them all individually, can see their wet starburst formations as they break on the ground.

“Hey,” Hancock ventures. “I’m just warning you, okay? She’s a little weird right now. I don’t think she’s dangerous in, y’know, the conventional sense, but…”

Nick has no idea what he means.

When she turns, the two men are standing there, staring at her helplessly. They look fantastic. Hancock always cuts a fine figure in his handsome coat, and he is looking at her, which she likes. And Nick. Nick who is always there for her, who never fails to do the right thing. He’s haloed in the street lamp, rain splattering on his coat, and even though he’s not human and doesn’t have a smell, so to speak, the smell of his coat is unmistakable to her. It’s synonymous with comfort, with something in this upside down world going right for a change.

“You’re incredible,” she tells him, cupping his manufactured face in her hands. She loves the way his eyes smolder in darkness and how they dart down when he talks and she does not realize she is saying all of this out loud until she registers a strange expression crossing over his careworn face.

“Told you,” mutters Hancock. He almost laughs; Nick looks as consumed by the desire to kiss her as Hancock was ten minutes ago, but the bitterness he feels at the thought stifles the urge. Natalie is never going to want anyone else, not while Nick’s around, and Hancock isn’t stupid, has known it all along. Even though she and Nick won’t admit it to one another. Sometimes he wants to strangle Nick. Damn synth didn’t know a good thing when he had it.

The faraway sound of a gunshot (outside of Goodneighbor somewhere) startles them all, and the spell is broken enough for Nick to snap out of it and shoo her into the Old State House. She won’t stop admiring things along the way, however, and eventually Nick gets frustrated and picks her up bridal style, carrying her up the stairs.

While the dazed woman rubs his lapels between her fingers, Nick makes the decision to take her up to the attic where she had slept earlier, but Hancock stops him.

“Drifters stay up there every night,” he explains. “I don’t want her up there with just anyone, not in this state.”

Nick can’t help but agree and, his hand forced, allows Hancock to guide them into his bedroom. It’s a simple affair: the bed is big but plain, the walls mostly bare. It’s good enough.

The detective sets her down carefully on the bed, removing her shoes, and Natalie seems comfortable.

“Almost like it used to be,” she giggles.

Hancock smiles, too, and says, “It’s all yours for the night, sweetheart. It’s time to sleep.” He doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, that Nick bristles at the affection in his voice.

“I’m tired, but I’m not _that_ tired. This is so exciting. Even though the two of you have been condescending to me all day and night, I’ve found myself able to ignore it and enjoy myself in spite of you.”

“Ouch!” says Hancock.

“Condescending?” asks Nick.

“I’ll explain everything, but you have to come here.” She wiggles to the center of the bed and pats the empty mattress on either side of her.

The men exchange glances. “Who does?”

“Both of you,” she answers as if they are the two stupidest people she has ever been in a room with.

Hancock feels weird about it, and he goes, if slowly, sinking down beside her on her right. Nick does not hesitate, sitting beside her on the left as he did when he woke her earlier that day.

Content, Natalie nods. “I appreciate what it is that you’re both trying to do, in your own ways, but this has gotten ridiculous, hasn’t it? Honestly, this isn’t what I thought would happen tonight, but it happened, and I’m really liking it. Everything is clearer to me than ever before. The junk, all the junk from my past life, just…” She makes a motion like sweeping an arm over a table, sending dishes flying. “I’m happy. I’ve _been_ happy. It’s not easy and I’m always hurting and tired, but I can’t go back to being the smiling housewife, I just can’t.

“So,” she continues, glaring at them in turn, “what I would like in the future is this. Hancock, accept that this is the way I want to live right now. You’re a wonderful friend for caring, but I know what I’m doing and it’s insulting when you insinuate I don’t. Nick—yes, you; you don’t get off scot-free—I don’t want you to worry about what Hancock worries about, but there is something else I am missing that I would like more of going forward.”

“And that is what? Fun? Chems?”

“Yes, and no. Let me…let me fall off the wagon sometimes. And if I hurt myself then so be it, but what if I fall off and manage one of those somersaults perfectly and it’s the greatest thing you’ve ever seen and you have to tell everyone…” The next few words are unintelligible, and the ones that came before were not terribly clear either.

And then she’s asleep.

Nick looks at Hancock over Natalie’s sleeping form and share a mutual look of _what the fuck_.

“Well,” Hancock finally manages to say. “time for you to scram, Nicky. She’ll have to sleep this off.”

“And where are you going to sleep, my friend?”

“In my bed, duh.”

“Would you care to run that by me again? My hearing must have shorted out for a moment.”

“Don’t insult me. You know nothin’s going to happen. What kind of guy do you think I am?”

“My trust in you is irrelevant here. How do you think she’ll feel about it in the morning? And I’ll have to explain that I just let you shimmy in under the covers with her…”

Hancock sighs in disgust. “I thought you were a synth, Nick, not one of those nanny Mr. Handys. I’ll cut you a deal. You stay too.”

“We’re not bartering over this,” Nick says firmly.

Hancock waggles what would have been his eyebrows and resolutely hunkers down onto the mattress.

“Fine.” Nick settles in just as firmly. Hancock turns off the light on the bedside table and Nick’s eyes shine in its place. “But you are, without a doubt, the worst kind of man.”

“Ghoul, Nicky,” Hancock corrects. He closes his eyes, synchs his breathing with Natalie’s, and allows her rhythm to carry him to sleep.

* * *

 

Nick Valentine does not sleep, is not able to sleep, but he can go into powersaving mode. Unnecessary functions cease, his circuitry cools, and he does not see. Any thoughts that drift through his brain are disjointed, hazy.

He can hear muffled shouting and explosions, which morph into the splash of radioactive water, which becomes a woman’s voice, laughing and gentle. She touches his arm and he swears he can really feel it—

He wakes suddenly. It is still dark, but it is easy for him to see the two sleeping forms next to him when he turns his head. Natalie is facing him, laying on her left. Hancock, too, is on his left side, and his arm is slung over Nat’s hips, their bodies close. Before this can sink in he sees that Natalie, in turn, has her hand on Nick’s own arm, loosely gripping his bicep through his coat, and her head is tucked slightly beneath him.

 _What a night_.

* * *

If Natalie finds any of the previous night’s events awkward, she does a very good job pretending she doesn’t. She laughs with Hancock about how green of a chem user she is, and they banter about her getting hooked, and Nick and Hancock (a silent truce declared) make up more and more ridiculous stories about things she’d done last night and she tries to figure out if they’re bullshitting her.

“I never asked, but did you two figure out anything about the case yesterday?” She’s tidying up in the mirror, last night’s dirt and sweat long washed away. Hancock is riding out a Jet high and Nick has been chain smoking all morning.

“Sure did. Your very handsome mayor gleaned some valuable information from Miss Daisy. Your guy ain’t missing, exactly. He ran away.”

“From what? To where?”

“Mr. Grimsby has a family,” Nick clarified. “They’re the reason he started trading. He got in with some bad practices when he saw how many more caps he could make. According to Daisy, a relative of one of the dead folks he robbed found out and threatened to tell his family everything—including his relationship with Daisy—and he skipped town lickety split.”

“So what do we tell our contact?”

Nick shrugs. “Everything I just told you. He wasn’t kidnapped, so we can’t exactly hunt down a grown man and make him change his mind. He did dig his own hole, after all.”

Natalie hums. She stares at herself in the mirror. All things considered she doesn’t look too bad, if a little tired; her freckles are still out in full force from the sun exposure she’s getting lately, the scar on her upper left lip is fading but still visible if she tilts her head just so. If the bags under her eyes are darker than usual, well, it isn’t the worst thing. That’s what the sunglasses are for.

She and Nick gather their things and prepare to leave Goodneighbor. Hancock is sorry to see them go, but Natalie promises they’ll be back.

Her promise is fulfilled less than a week later, when she and Nick breeze back through. She doesn’t stop to see him, though, not right away. A guard reports that she and the detective have disappeared into the Memory Den. Some sort of detective work, probably. Hancock figures they’ll come around soon enough if he cools his heels, though as the day goes by he is less sure of himself.

Just when the sun starts to set and he is considering taking a self-pityingly large dose of something-or-other, there is a small knock at his door. He nearly trips over the table in his eagerness to answer, but when he opens the door to see Natalie standing there he is the picture of calm.

She grins at him. “Good to see you, mayor. Sorry about the snub earlier; Railroad business.”

“Say no more.” He gestures grandly for her to come in, which she does, but she does not sit down. Instead she is wringing her wrists and looking unsure of herself, which is not a new look on Nat but definitely one she’s never sprung on Hancock before.

“Can I…can I ask you something?” she mumbles.

“Anything,” he replies earnestly. His eyes dart to the open door, but Natalie does not seem concerned that they will be overheard.

“I, uh. The other night. I really liked it.”

“I could tell,” Hancock jokes gently.

Her green eyes lock onto his as if she has found new inspiration, and she sucks in a breath. “I wanted to ask if we could do that again.” It comes out in a rush, but Hancock reads her loud and clear.

“You wanna try the Mentats again?” His grin must be wolfish, but he can’t help himself; Nat has always been somewhat of a poindexter, not the type he pictures getting high, so hearing her _ask_ him for chems is such a surreally hysterical thing that he really can’t control the laugh that comes spilling out of his mouth.

She doesn’t rise to it, but nods. “Yeah. If we could. On purpose, this time,” she adds wryly. “And I want you both to be there.”

“Both?”

There is a sound just outside the open door, and Nick Valentine is suddenly leaning against the door frame, looking as though he’d been there all along.

“She’s got you stooping to eavesdropping now?”

Surprisingly, Nick seems to be in a pretty good mood, and when he and Natalie trade a glance it is an amicable one. “Alright, doll, you got his permission. You still want to go through with it?”

Natalie nods again. “Definitely.”

“I’m surprised at you, Nicky,” Hancock rasps. “I would have thought you’d put a stop to this.”

“As you have said, I’m a synth, not a nanny. I care about Natalie, and if this is something she wants I’m glad to be a part of it.”

The woman in question flushes. “That’s enough,” she stutters, embarrassed.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road!” Hancock says a little too gleefully. All it takes is a discreet hand signal to his guard, who shuts them into the room. Hancock turns the lock. It is dark outside now, and he throws the shades and turns on the dim but warmly glowing lamp in the corner, doing the same to table lamp in the adjoining bedroom.

“If you don’t feel good and want to stop, say something,” he tells Natalie as he strides back into the office. “Bed’s yours if and when you need to pass out. Now, the big question is, do you want me to ride with you?”

Natalie giggles at his phrasing and replies, “Only if you want to. Nick can’t, so I wouldn’t want him to feel _too_ left out.”

Nick, to his credit, has been sitting on the sofa calmly. He really seems to be taking Natalie’s drugged-out request to heart. To anyone else he might appear disinterested in the events going on, but Hancock knows his friend is as eagle-eyed as always; tonight, however, he’s letting Nat take the reins.

She shrugs out of her armour and is down to just her road leathers. Even Nick shucks his coat, the white button-down shirt beneath rolled up at the sleeves, exposing the bare metal of his right hand. Hancock clears the heavier stuff off the table and sets down two packs of original Mentats. “Start with one,” he advises, “and see how you feel. You took about half a pack’s worth the other night and we don’t want a repeat of that.”

“Says you.”

Hancock gives her a withering look and continues, “As for me, I am also going to take one. And that, I will swear to you both, will be all for me tonight. Don’t look so disappointed, sweetheart. It’ll still get me going, but in case something goes wrong I don’t want to be too blitzed.”

“If things went fine last week I think it’s going to be a cakewalk tonight,” she says, rolling her eyes, but does not argue further. She picks up the blister pack and pops out a single Mentat. It rests in the palm of her hand and she glances at Nick, who nods as if to say, _go on_. She smiles. “Bottoms up.” The Mentat disappears into her mouth. As Hancock follows suit Natalie lets the tablet dissolve. It tastes a little chalky but isn’t unbearable.

Hancock pulls out a stack of magazines, pre-war, and throws them onto the table. She’s not sure why until the chem starts to take effect and the pages she is idly flipping through suddenly become twice as vivid and three times more fascinating.

“You’re too easy,” Hancock jibes. “Your eyes are like a shark’s when there’s blood in the water.”

“You had better behave or it will be your blood,” she teases back. When the magazine no longer holds her interest she stands and paces the room.

Twenty minutes later she’s back for another one. Nick nods, and Hancock lets her have it.

She trails her fingers lightly down the battered wallpaper, feeling the minute bumps of trapped air bubbles and the old pattern that had been painted on in earlier days. Her cheek is pressed to the wall, and Hancock laughs, taking her lightly by the shoulders and guiding her back to the sofa where Nick is sitting. The synth hasn’t taken his eyes off her yet. “You sit here, sister. Relax. Lots of people find Mentats inspiring. Lots of artists.”

“I’m not an artist,” she replies, slumping forward onto Nick, “but I know a good piece when I see one.”

Nick fixes her with a burning gaze, and Natalie’s fingers skip over his shirt and tie and back down his sleeves until she has taken his metal hand in hers and is turning it over in the light, slotting her own fingers in between his. Nick says nothing, but he can’t stop watching the way her hand, whole and soft, fits with his, broken and cold, and how little it seems to bother her. His better hand, before he can stop himself, reaches to stroke her cheek. His thumb runs over her freckles and she closes her eyes and smiles.

Hancock swallows. This is something he suddenly feels like he should not be seeing. Everyone with eyes should know the deal between Nick and Natalie, even if the two of them don’t; this is a long time coming for them, and Hancock feels like a perverted invader.

When Nick’s hand moves to her forehead, he remarks, “You’re hot.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, delighting in the flush, her cheeks red and happy. “Your hand feels good. It’s cool,” she murmurs, leaning into his touch. She sighs, is all but in Nick’s lap, bracing her hands on either side of him. Her eyes won’t leave his, and once again the clockwork that is his body has taken her drugged mind hostage. “You are just perfect,” she raves. Hancock knows this strikes a soft spot for Nick, who is always so quick to self-depreciate, who doesn’t believe that anyone could see him the way Natalie so clearly does now, and sure enough Nick’s hand stutters just once before cupping the back of her head and kissing her deeply.

The noise Natalie makes should be illegal, and Hancock watches her fully seat herself on top of the detective, opening her mouth to his tongue as his hands slip down her body to grip her by her slender hips. “Nick,” she whispers in between kisses, “I need you.”

“I’m here,” he assures her.

“And there’s something else…I’m on the verge of something.” Her hands feverishly clutch his face. “I need one more, and I’ll have it.”

Nick doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but he turns to Hancock. “You heard her. One more. Bring it here.”

Usually Hancock would have something smart to say at the idea of Nick giving him orders, but instead he leaps from his seat and seizes the Mentats pack from the table.

Natalie seems unable, or unwilling, to remove her hands and mouth from Nick for even a moment, and Hancock sits down beside the pair, unsure what to do until Nick jerks his head back and lifts Natalie by the hips just slightly. _You’ll have to come to her_. He can’t actually say it, his lips busy with Natalie’s, insistently kissing him as if she’s afraid he’ll dissolve if she doesn’t.

 _What a problem to have,_ Hancock thinks. He scoots behind her, and though she jumps slightly when he places his own hand on her thigh she does not protest. “Hey, sweetheart,” he rasps, “I’ve got one for you.”

Nick releases his grip on her just slightly, and Natalie leans back until she is resting the weight of her torso onto Hancock instead. Her head falls onto his shoulder, and he takes the Mentat in hand and slowly runs the fingers of his free hand through her dark hair as the other slips the chem into her waiting, wet mouth. He shudders when her tongue touches him, and after she has accepted the drug it curls around his fingers. He presses the side of his face into hers, breathing heavy in her ear, and she shifts excitedly on Nick’s lap, pupils blown.

Nick can’t even bring himself to feel jealousy as he looks at her. The usually prim woman he has known these past months has morphed into this wriggling, desperate creature whose skin is so sensitive she gasps when either of the men touch her, whose pink tongue is wrapping around Hancock’s fingers in her mouth while she stares Nick down.

“I’m hot,” she says when Hancock finally manages the will to take away his hand. “Please.”

Nick, somehow, knows what she wants. His dexterous hand finds the zipper of her jacket and makes quick work of it. Next he flutters down the front of her shirt, undoing each button, and the garment parts to reveal her taut stomach and the swell of her breasts within her bra.

Nick has seen this before, but it hardly matters, and he drinks in the sight.

Hancock can’t help it—his eyes immediately look down to greedily take in the scenery himself, and she surprises him by catching his mouth in her when he tilts his head. When she breathes heavily into the kiss (she tastes of the Mentat and something else, something far more addicting) Hancock knows it’s because Nick is touching her bare stomach. “You’re beautiful,” Nick mutters, and the shock causes Natalie’s mouth to leave Hancock’s, and she looks him in the eye as if to ask, _did he really just say that? About_ me _?_

Hancock nibbles her ear, and she mewls, fingers blindly running down Nick’s chest. When Hancock continues to her neck, sucking a bruise on the fragile skin there, Natalie’s hips roll, caught in Nick’s steady hands.

“Is that what you want, doll?” asks Nick huskily.

Nick is also a surprise; he too is fairly stuffy, by Hancock’s standards, but it seems the task of keeping up with Natalie, and the idea of finally having her, has allowed him to become what he is now. What is he now? Apparently a man who knows exactly what to say to the sweating woman between them, because at his words she nods desperately, pulling at his tie.

“Show me to your room,” she demands, this time to Hancock, who suddenly has no further doubts about his place in this bizarre evening.

“Gladly.” He growls and takes her from Nick, spinning her around in his arms and lifting her from the couch. He’s strong on a good day, but when Natalie’s legs are wrapping around his waist and she’s mouthing at his neck he’s ten times as mighty. They don’t make it to the bedroom before Hancock gives in to the urge to slam her against the wall. His skin does not seem to bother her roaming hands or mouth, nor does anything else about him, or Nick for that matter. The two of them might have sent pre-war Nat running for the hills, but now it seems she wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here, Hancock pressing his hips into hers through their clothing. She groans when his erection brushes against her.

Eventually they do make it to home plate, and Hancock drops her onto the mattress, his own body following closely behind. He crawls over her, grasping her chin and kissing the daylights out of her, her legs on either side of his hips.

The bed dips and Hancock knows Nick is there. Her hand grasps for him and Nick takes it, kissing each fingertip in turn.

“You’re going to have to do most of the legwork,” Nick is saying to Hancock, “but I’m not above getting my hands dirty.”

Natalie understands his meaning, if her full-body shudder is any indication.

Hancock slips his arms under hers and pulls her to a sitting position so Nick can slot himself behind her. She rests between his legs, kissing him when she can. She’s doesn’t seem put off by his synth mouth and tongue, which are not wholly different but different _enough_ , Nick thinks. Rather, she seems to believe the answers to the universe lay on the tip of Nick’s tongue, and she needs to know them. Badly.

She only stops when Hancock unbuttons her trousers and pulls them, along with her underwear, down her legs. She kicks them off while Nick skillfully undoes her bra (synth witchcraft, obviously; those things are a pain in the ass) and then both of them are seeing her naked for the first time. Her body is hard, but soft. It’s toned from the fighting and the struggle, but still so beautiful.

Hancock cups her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over her erect nipples, and her head pushes back into Nick’s chest as she moans. Nick has a different prize in mind. His left hand creeps around her front, skimming past the freckle next to her belly button, teasing her by ghosting over the insides of her thighs, and she’s whimpering, moving her hips to hurry him along.

Nick shouldn’t be shocked at how wet she is when he fingers finally slide down her slit and just as easily inside, but he is. She feels like fire down there, too, and he works his fingers in and out, gently at first, using the moisture to stimulate her clitoris. He’s accurate, Hancock notices jealously, hitting the sweet spot perfectly each time. Maybe it wasn’t so crazy for her to choose a synth after all.

So, then, what are ghouls good for? Hancock grins, shucking his own coat and pants. He’s not embarrassed to be seen by Nick, but he is self-conscious at his own body in contrast to Natalie’s. She is smooth and soft; he is rough and pocked. But she smiles back when he resumes his place in front of her, his coarse hands playing up her legs and hips and breasts again, and she opens her legs to receive him between them, giving him a perfect view of Nick’s soaked fingers gliding in and out of her. The synth is spreading her, getting her ready.

“Nick,” she breathes, writhing. “I can’t hold out much longer.”

“Stop holding out,” he mutters in her ear. “You are gorgeous like this, when you are completely at our mercy, did you know that? We want you to come undone. We want you moaning our names and begging for more. Isn’t that right, Hancock?”

“We want you to feel good,” Hancock agrees, leaning in to kiss her. As he draws away he whispers against her lips, “come for us.”

And she does. Spectacularly. “Nick!” Hancock feels her shudder when she cries out, clutching Nick’s shirt with one hand and Hancock’s arm with the other. Nick has the privilege of feeling each clench of her inner muscles, and each spasm causes her to jerk and inhale sharply.

She gazes at them in turn once it is over, dazed.

“Was that what you were on the verge of?” asks Nick, somewhat seriously, as he withdraws his fingers. Her inner muscles let him go weakly, still highly stimulated.

“That was an epiphany,” she replies with a wild grin, “but it wasn’t _the_ epiphany.”

“I think I know what she needs,” says Hancock, and Natalie turns to see him kneeing beneath her legs, proud erection in hand. It is scarred like the rest of him, but otherwise functional. Very functional. She bites her lip, staring at it as Hancock’s hand strokes himself up and down. He laughs at her lack of shame. “Do you want this?”

Hancock is a presumptuous jerk, but he would never do anything to a woman she didn’t ask for expressly. He has no reason to think Natalie will turn him down, but he has to ask.

Her eyes half-lidded, Natalie finally looks up at him.

“Hancock can make you feel real good,” Nick says in his gravelly voice. Natalie nods enthusiastically.

“I know he can. He will. I want him to. Please, Hancock.” To punctuate her sentence she rolls her hips. Hancock still can’t believe this is happening, but when a pretty woman asks so nicely for you to fuck her, what else can you do?

The first touch of his dick at her slit makes her gasp, and he rubs the head up and down her, gathering her moisture and teasing her sensitive clit.

“Please,” she says again, and between her huge pupils and her quivering lips he knows she needs it bad, knows it will feel as amazing for her as everything else has.

So he positions himself at her entrance, Nick cupping her backside and lifting her just so, and Hancock’s dick slides in. It’s an easy slide, because she’s so wet, but it’s incredibly stimulating, and Nick’s fingers are not as big as he is. Her body adjusts to his size as he makes tentative, shallow thrusts, opening her up, and by the time he feels comfortable bottoming out inside of her she is already undone.

She is hot and tight inside and feels so good, so unbelievably good, that Hancock throws his head back at the sensation. Nick is massaging her breasts, playing with her nipples, and her orgasm has left her so receptive that between Nick’s ministrations and Hancock’s rough cock sliding in and out of her she is almost at the door of heaven again.

Hancock picks up the pace, rolling his hips against her, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting firmly back in again, and his hands slide where Nick’s had been beneath her body, lifting her into better position to receive his thrusts, holding her hips tightly, possessively, as he fucked her into the mattress.

She clings to Nick for dear life, whispering sweet nothings that cannot be comprehended but the meanings of which are abundantly clear to both men in between moans that are, frankly, so sexy it’s rude, and Hancock feels so lucky to have this gorgeous woman in his bed, to be inside of her, to be making her feel this good. Nick’s presence has not halved his share of the enjoyment of this; if anything, he can’t imagine it happening without Nick. He and Nick would do anything for Natalie, and if she wants them both here touching her and fucking her, then that’s what she will get.

Hancock flips her over after a time, and her body falls into Nick, her mouth meeting his again, as Hancock resumes his thrusts from behind. Her back and ass are so perfect, and Hancock touches her everywhere, reaches down to feel her breasts bounce with each push inside of her. Whatever Nick is whispering to her now is causing her to almost visibly unravel, and then suddenly her inner muscles flutter as she reaches a second crushing orgasm, and Hancock knows he can’t go on much longer.

“I’m going to come, beautiful,” he manages, breathless from exertion.

Goosebumps race down her body. God, does she want this badly.

She is nothing like the woman in the poster, he realizes suddenly. She is so, so much better than he gave her credit for.

“Do it,” she gasps, “please. Come inside me, Hancock.”

Never one to disappoint, Hancock obeys. He gives one final thrust, cock filling her completely, and with the chems lighting each of her nerves on fire Natalie can feel the hot liquid spilling into her and out of her when she can’t take anymore within. She freezes as he pumps his load into her, accepting all of it, and Nick kisses her face softly.

Hancock collapses on her, his cheek pressing into her back. Natalie sighs deeply, and when she turns to look at Hancock she is grinning and red as a tato. Hancock reluctantly slides out of her, and she winces when he leaves her body, already missing the feel of him. His fingers hurry to catch the fluid that is dripping from her, rubbing it into her sore folds.

This has been, without a doubt, the best lay of his life.

“I got it now,” Natalie says as Hancock pulls her to her feet. “I know what it is I was on the verge of.”

“And what is it?”

Nick is there, too, guiding her towards the basin so they can get cleaned up. He’s already taken the dirty sheets off. Clever boy.

Natalie giggles. She kisses each of them in turn. “I can’t,” she says simply. Hancock thinks he gets it. It’s not that she doesn’t want to tell them; she literally cannot put it into words. But he also thinks he knows exactly what she means.

* * *

Natalie and Nick are back to Goodneighbor even sooner than she promised they would be this time. Hancock is already pacing like a dog eager for his dinner, which is pathetic, but when he opens his door to her, her smile makes him forget how truly doomed he is.

She leans against Nick, his metal hand carding through her hair, and before Hancock leans in to meet her lips he holds up a pack of Mentats.

“Want a hit?” he asks with a smirk.

“No thanks,” she says. “I’ve got all the answers already, remember?”

And then she kisses him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Someday I will forgive Bethesda for not allowing a Nick romance but today is not that day. 
> 
> PS: If I mixed tenses anywhere or did something else equally horrible feel free to let me know!


End file.
